The Sound Of Silence
by FlamesOfAPhoenix
Summary: Tonks discovers Remus alone in Grimauld Place, surrounded by memories and falling apart. She tries, in her own way, to fix him. As both battle their grief, can Sirius' death bring them closer together?


**Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and anything you recognise is hers. This was written for smile456smile's challenge, I hope you enjoy! Any reviews, as always, are gratefully received. **

Life seemed to stop after Sirius' death. It felt indecent, somehow, to carry on living. Every time Tonks visited Grimauld Place, every time she fell over the umbrella stand, she was confronted by Sirius' absence. Once Mrs Black's screaming stopped, the silence was almost unbearable. Sometime, Tonks was tempted to yell. Anything to disrupt that awful quiet. Often, she found herself waiting for Sirius' sarcastic commentary, already preparing her reply and readying a spirited defence for her clumsiness. Then, heart breaking, she'd realise it was pointless. He would never tease her again.

He'd been missing for much of her life, imprisoned for a crime he hadn't committed. By all rights, she should be used to it. Used to the quiet. But that was before she knew him. Now? Now, she felt as though a hole had been ripped in her world. When she'd lost Sirius, she'd lost much more than a cousin and friend. She'd lost a brother.

And she wasn't the only one.

One day, several weeks after Sirius' death, Tonks found herself in the hallway of Grimauld Place. Intending to leave a report for Dumbledore, she headed towards the kitchen. As she reached for the door-handle, however, she heard a noise from upstairs. Senses alert, Tonks reached into a pocket and withdrew her wand. Returning to the hallway, and praying for agility, she climbed the stairs. A particularly loud creak made her wince, but her ascent was – on the whole – mercifully quiet. The same could not be said the library's occupant. The odd thud echoed from the room and she thought she heard the crackling of flames. Tentatively, she pushed the door.

It was locked.

Muttering a spell, Tonks tried again and, this time, was rewarded with a small click as the door swung open. Looking into the library, Tonks registered that the fire was, indeed, burning merrily. The flames cast long shadows, dark tendrils creeping over the bookcases and into the ancient tomes. The rug was withered with age, tattered in places, and its colours were faded. Resolutely ignoring the spell-blast tapestry, Tonks stepped further into the room. Despite Molly's best efforts, clouds of dust rose as she walked and, try as she might, Tonks couldn't shake the feeling that the room hadn't changed in centuries. Even the man sitting in the room looked old, his tired face worn ragged with grief.

"Remus?" she whispered, slowly lowering her wand. The man gazed up at her, despair evident in his soulful eyes.

"Yes," he replied hoarsely. For a long moment, they stared at each other. Feelings that Tonks had repressed for months began to resurface, inspired by the extraordinary man before her. She cared for him, with an intensity that frightened her, and she wanted nothing more than his lips on hers.

She could have looked at him forever.

After several long seconds, however, he looked away. Clearing his throat nervously, he returned to the job at hand. Joining him on the rug, and basking in the heat of the fire and his nearness, Tonks observed him closely.

Although grief had aged him, painting deeper lines upon his face, Tonks had never felt young around him. He treated her as an adult, valuing her opinions in a way many didn't. Due to her metamorphosing, she'd experienced more than her fair share of discrimination and curiosity, but Remus had never prodded her for details. Most likely, Tonks had often thought, Remus understood. As a werewolf, the prejudice and hardship he faced dwarfed her own. Perhaps, she wondered suddenly, that was why they and Sirius had formed such a close knit group. They were used to being outcasts, standing out from the crowd.

Lost in reminiscences, and still staring absently at Remus' face, Tonks failed to realise that he had stopped throwing things in the fire. In fact, when he spoke, she nearly leapt out of her skin.

"Am I really that interesting to look at?" he asked wryly, a slight note of amusement evident in his voice. "Because, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm no oil painting…" he trailed off, attempting a self-depreciating laugh. However, Tonks noted a bitter undercurrent to his words and the way he unconsciously covered his scars with his hands told a different story.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," she quoted softly, giving him a small smile and laying one of her hands on his own. It might have been the rosy hue of the fire, but she could have sworn Remus' cheeks reddened slightly. In any case, after a slight hesitation, he returned her grin.

"Indeed," said Remus dryly. Unwilling to ruin the moment, but unable to stand the quiet, she cast around for conversation. It was surprisingly easy. But then, it always had been.

"_What_," she asked, in genuine interest, "are you doing?" Remus was surrounded by shredded photos and the odd heirloom was strewn across the floor. If Tonks didn't know better, she'd suggest that Remus had thrown the silver goblets. It was certainly a possible explanation for the thuds she'd heard earlier. Although not given to displays of violence, the werewolf was falling apart. Anyone could see that Sirius' death had affected him badly and Tonks couldn't really blame him for expressing his anger and desolation. Perhaps, he couldn't bear the emptiness either. But that didn't explain the photos.

"Actually, I'm doing one last favour for… for Sirius."

"For Sirius?" Tonks couldn't keep the curiosity out of her voice. A momentary shadow flashed across Remus' face, exposing the grief he was clearly fighting to keep at bay. She felt her own heart ripple in sympathy.

"Yes," said Remus. "He made me promise, months ago, that I would burn any Black family photos if… if he died." He stumbled over the last few words and Tonks blinked furiously, trying to stem the rising tears. He was very drunk at the time, no doubt, but I couldn't find it in myself to refuse. I never thought that he would… that he'd…" Remus couldn't complete the sentence.

"I know," Tonks whispered. When the silence seemed to stretch on, more unbearable than ever, she felt compelled to break it. "I miss him, too. More than I would've thought possible. But I'm sure, somewhere, that he's glorying in the destruction of those photos. Probably dancing on a cloud and swigging a bottle of Firewhiskey or something."

"Sounds about right." They were closer than ever, now. Suddenly, Tonks was seized with a yearning to be closer still, to take away the hurt and pain. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around Remus. He stiffened slightly, before relaxing and allowing her to cling to him. After a pause, Tonks was almost convinced he tightened his grasp. They sat there, the Metamorphmagus and the werewolf, offering comfort in the only way they knew how. The unbearable quiet was lessened somehow, their breathing loud enough to mask the loss and, for a moment at least, their grief was kept at bay.

In truth, it wasn't the romantic kiss of fairytales, or the passionate embrace she'd dreamed of. But he was real and he was warm, and it was exactly what they needed. She hadn't fixed him, far from it, but she'd begun to repair the cracks.

And, for now, that was all she wanted.


End file.
